Are you dying?
by Daniel'smummy
Summary: A bad dream leads Stiles to make some difficult choices, and along the way stumble on something that could be the answer he didn't realise he had been looking for.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Picks up after they discover the Kanima is Jackson. Not sure where this came from but it bounced into my mind and won't stop rattling around. If you've come over on author alert – sorry that I've been on hiatus, but at least it's still werewolves – that has to count for something right?

* * *

Stiles knew that he was dreaming, he always knew when he was dreaming. It was like the boundary that exists in other people's mind between sleep and awake just wasn't there for him. He could sense the dreams, could he even call them dreams really? Memories - that was what his dreams were, clear, visceral memories of moments in his life that never faded, never went away. Memories that just replayed themselves behind his eyelids over and over again, with a different angle, different vantage point until he could almost taste them.

He knew this dream far too well. He can feel how old he is by the fact that his feet don't touch the ground where they are swinging from the chair. He knows this dream by the steady beep beep drone in the background, a sound that always makes his blood run cold, even if it's just coming from a stupid TV show. He can feel his mouth opening, he knows exactly what he's about to say, how his little boy voice will sound as he trembles out the words, the question he wants to ask his mom that no one else, not his father, not the doctors or nurses who pat him on the head when they pass will answer him.

He's had this dream a thousand, no a million times, and as much as it hurts, it's ok, but he knows exactly how it all pans, he knows how to handle this. He knows how much he loves her, how much he loved her then and still does, how his childish mind was trying to cope with the loss of this thing he called 'family', how her not being a part of it will destroy him and his dad, how they will never be the same again even though they survive, stumbling through life carrying this huge empty void with them. They've found their own ways over the years. His dad uses work, allowing each case to literally take him over, absorb him, fill up that void, give him a purpose, a reason to keep going. Stiles feels himself take a breath in his sleep, the dream memory taking over his thoughts again before he allows himself to dwell on how he survives.

But as the dream memory pulls him back in Stiles can feel that it's wrong – something has changed, this isn't right, he fights for control of the dream, for how it should feel, but his feet are hitting the floor as he stands up from the chair he should be sitting on, that he's always sitting on, and his voice doesn't tremble and it's not the child's voice it should be. It's hard and angry and full of venom as he spits out the words he's always said with such fear, except now it's not a question, he's not meekly asking, he's demanding. He's angry, angry with the person, angry with the world, angry with himself. Stiles tries to fight the dream, tries desperately to control it, because this is how he survives, this is how he keeps going by being able to control things. But Stiles can't control what's happening and he's never been more terrified in his life because if he can't control this dream everything will come crumbling down around him.

He's too tall, as tall as his is now almost, and he's not wearing the little t-shirt and shorts that he's always wearing, the check shirt flashes by his eyes as he points in anger, as he's watching the dream unfold in a way it mustn't, it can't. His heart is racing as he tries to force it back to the way he should be but the words are already out, spat into the air with hatred and it feels like they are vibrating in the air around him.

"Are you dying?"

They should be whispered, they should break with a small sob at the end, they should be followed by a gentle trail of fingertips over the top of his head as she whispers back to him the words that tell him everything he needs to know. But everything is wrong now, there are no whispers, there are no fingertips, the look on her face is pained and resigned and she's not supposed to look like that, like she needs him to save her, like it all depends on him, she can't….please don't let her….

"Not yet"

It cuts through his heart like a knife, and he bolts awake in bed, throwing back tangled covers and staggering out of the door. Shoving himself into the bathroom as the feeling forces its way through his body, doubling him over, leftover chilli making a vile repeat visit. He leans back again the sink, trembling all over, turning and grabbing some water to rinse his mouth out, he looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes are wide and pupils are dilated. He leans across and flips open the cabinet, searching for the bottle with shaking hands but as he pulls it out, he drops it suddenly.

He doesn't want to concentrate. He doesn't want to figure this out. He doesn't want to know anymore. He's tired, so very tired. He's tried to take care of them, he's tried to protect them all – his dad, Scott, Lydia, Allison, now even Jackson, even ….. Stiles shuts down, he can't, he can't do it anymore. Not when it feels like this. Not when it feels like….

He bangs his fist down angrily, no – this is not the same. He will not let it be the same. He doesn't have a family. He has his dad, that's it. Just him and his dad, he lost his family in that room. He does not have a family. He is not p…. He grimaces at his reflection, refuses to finish the thought and bangs the cupboard closed angrily, sweeping the bottle off the counter and on to the floor. He sets his face determinedly, he refuses. That's it, he refuses to choose. He's done, he's out. It's over.

He pulls the hoody over his t-shirt and shoves his feet into some sneakers. His hand reaches out for the keys to his jeep before remembering that it's still impounded. He sighs, he doesn't care anymore. It's over. Pulling the door behind him he steps out into the cool night air, the breeze makes him shiver as it eats through the thin sleep pants he is wearing. He pulls the hood up, sticks his fists deep into the pockets and begins to walk.

By the time he is finally tired he's lost track of where he is, for a moment he panics, suddenly acutely aware that it is night, there are wolves, hunters, kanima, not to mention probably regular old murderers, thieves and rapists wandering around at night and he doesn't even have a cell phone on him and he's wearing essentially pjs. But then he remembers, remembers that he doesn't care, that this is the point of it all. That he has given up, he is handing back control to whatever forces of darkness control this town now.

Stiles sits wearily on a nearby bench, part of him is sad, he feels bad for his dad, but this way is easiest, no more lying, hiding, being caught in the middle of everything unexplainable. But mostly he is calm, a strange sensation really. He's fought for so long to be in control that letting go is almost pleasant. No more choices. No more pain. No more memories.

Briefly he wonders what will find him first, how he will die, he wonders what face death will wear when it comes for him – lizard, wolf or human even? Then slowly, for the first time he can ever remember, Stiles slips into sleep, real peaceful sleep that has no dreams, no memories, just fuzzy colours and a sense of calm.

The colours get brighter, stronger, more harsh until Stile's has his eyes screwed up tight, this is it he thinks, it is time. Death is here and it's bright and vivid and….

Stiles cocks his head to the side… Death sounds like candy wrappers?

He tries to sit up and flails unexpectedly due largely to having fallen asleep on a narrow bench. A solid hand grabs hold of his sleeve and rights him. Stiles drags his eyes open and tries to focus on… Boyd? The guy is sitting on the other end of the bench, chewing thoughtfully on some kind of candy bar.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles manages to mumble out, is Boyd Death? Or is he just here to kill him on Death's orders?

Boyd shrugs and stands up from the bench, loosening his shoulders as he does so in an nonchalant manner "Waiting for the bus" he says nodding as indeed the school bus begins to pull towards the stop that Stiles hadn't seen on his night wanderings. As the doors open in front of them, Boyd steps back slightly and motions towards Stiles "Are you getting on?"

Stiles isn't sure why he steps up onto the bus, after all he is only wearing sleep pants and a t-shirt under his hoody, he has no book bag, no money, no phone, he hasn't showered or even brushed his teeth and he's pretty sure that he is doing a good impression of being homeless right now. But what he really can't figure out is why he's still alive, that wasn't the plan at all. He was supposed to sit there, and Death was supposed to find him. Death has been chasing him for this long he was really just supplying the helping hand.

He slides into the seat that Boyd is nudging him towards, squeezing up against the window because, you know, Boyd is a pretty big guy and these seats aren't particularly generous. He turns his attention back to the bench, the empty space he had chosen to surrender himself to Death and frowns slightly, certain it hadn't looked like that last night, or this morning whenever it was. One thing was clear, if the huge amount of litter around the bench was anything to go by, Death had eaten a hell of a lot of candy.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to those who have decided to join the ride. Yes, it's Stiles-centric, because honestly he is just one of my favourite characters.

* * *

As Stiles shuffled into school he continued to muse on his lack of success at offering himself up to Death. He was aware of all the bodies as they pressed their way into the building, everyone set on their on goals, unaware, unconcerned that he had laid himself out as a prime suckling pig for Death to have its wicked feast on.

He watched as all the bodies continued on their paths, his eyes flickering to the side as he suddenly realised that what had been the odd, but vaguely comforting, or at least directing presence of Boyd had been seamlessly replaced by the much more unwelcome figure of Isaac, whose eyes were skittering around, while the hostile sneer turned his lip in an unpleasant fashion.

Stiles speed up, trying to subtlety place some distance between himself and the person who had to all intents and purposes tried to maim him not too many nights ago. Ducking into the nearest bathroom with the intention of trying to make himself a little cleaner, Stiles winced as he heard the door crash between him. He really didn't think Death was Isaac-shaped, Isaac was much more of an annoying minion and Stiles was really only in the mood to deal with Death straight on, no more pussy-footing around with people or wolves who just wanted to damage him a little.

Isaac began to stalk towards Stiles, enjoying it far too much when Stiles stumbled slightly as he tried to step backwards, puffing his chest and flicking his head in what was, in Stiles' humble opinion, a piss-poor attempt to look like Derek. Stiles let out a huff of annoyance, a sarcastic comment about wannabees forming itself of his lips as he watched Isaac's eyes go wide and a look of panic flash across his face.

Stiles twisted his head to see what had caught his eye, turning himself fully around as he watched Jackson emerge from the stall, tissues in hand, trying to clean something of his face. Stiles could hear Isaac's breathing increase, he could almost feel the arrogance vanishing and being replaced by a genuine fear. Stiles paused, continuing to regard Jackson, taking in the lack of scales, lack of tail, lack of anything generally lizard like apart from the trail of dark liquid that appeared to be coming from his ear.

"S'up?" he said nonchalantly, as if seeing the guy dressed up in his freak show alter ego had been an entirely normal experience in Stiles' life. Which, given the way things have been going recently wasn't actually too far from the truth. Jackson glared at him, but Stiles just shrugged, on the scale of things it was a fairly normal, I am the king of all things wonderful and you are the most pathetic individual to ever try to share my airspace glare, lacking in all things evil and lizardlike.

Stiles wandered to the next basin, choosing to completely ignore wannabee-badass who appeared to be trying to decide between fleeing for the safety of his badass twin bitch and becoming one with the tiled wall behind him. What was Derek thinking? Stiles wondered to himself, this one definitely wasn't cut out for much in the way of wolfness.

Turning on the tap, he pooled the water in his hands and tried to rub the sleep and other gunk from his face, He noticed Jackson's frantic actions next to him trying clean himself up. Grabbing some of the tissue and wetting it slightly he reached over and dabbed at a streak of black that had alluded Jackson's rubbing. Jackson swung abruptly, knocking his hand away and glaring harder.

"Did I say you could touch me?" he hissed angrily, Stiles almost smirked at the hiss, before catching himself, wolves growl, Jackson hisses, it figures. Stiles didn't recoil either, which sort of surprised him. Another shrug "Hey, there are about 6 or 7 people in the school who don't find the supernatural black freakiness that is running down your neck weird, 3 are in this room, get over it, do you want anyone else to figure it out?" Jackson glared some more before grabbing the wet tissue from his outstretched hand and wiping his neck again. He added another glare for good measure, in case any one in the room hadn't realised that they were supposed to be bowled over by the sheer awesomeness that was Jackson before grabbing his bag and making to leave.

Stiles couldn't help but look at him, trying to work out where the lizard, the Kanima fitted into all of this, and also trying to work out to a degree where the hell Jackson kept that tail when it wasn't needed. The few bits of info that had come from Allison's attempt to get the counsellor to translate creepy grandpa hunter files said that the Kanima was looking for a friend. Stiles found himself wondering if being the biggest antisocial a-hole in the world was a Kanima prerequisite, why Derek wasn't sporting a lizard tail of his own? Stiles stepped ever so slightly over, not touching him, just enough to make him slow his step, his voice quieter, no threat, definitely no threat here. "That's at least a couple of people who won't freak out if you ever need anything you know".

"Could you be more gay?" the shove to his shoulder had Stiles stumbling back against Isaac as Jackson pushed past and out of the door. Stiles pulled himself up straighter and up off Isaac, turning towards the door himself. He looked back over his shoulder in despair at the boy.

"Seriously? And to think for a moment at the police station, I was actually afraid of you". Stiles shook his head and pushed out into the corridor and into the stream of bodies randomly wondering where the hell he was actually supposed to be right now.

Two classes later, Stiles had realised that he was to all intents and purposes completely invisible. Not literally invisible, he hadn't ingested any magic fairy dust or anything, but the world was completely oblivious to his existence. Nobody noticed that he had no books, teachers were seemingly unconcerned about his lack of even basic pen and paper, perhaps he wondered, they were grateful that he was a little less 'participatory' than normal.

English found him beginning to feel the effects of his night time walk, as the class took it in turns to read out lumps of Shakespeare in bored, indifferent tones, Stiles could feel his consciousness shutting down and the grip of lucidity slipping away. Resting his head on his arms, he let the droning voice of one of his fellow students give way to the steady beep beep inside his head. Once again his dream memory was off, still in the hospital, still the sound of the machine, but instead of his mom's frail figure he was confronted by remnants of another dream, another memory that should take place in his jeep, a memory that always made him feel sick and panicked. But oddly enough, the fact that everything was happening in the wrong places, in the wrong order was now more comforting to him than disturbing. Derek lay on the bed instead, the sleeve of his dark top pulled up exposing the oozing wound and the black threaded veins. This was from the dream where he shouts, where he's angry and scared and completely overwhelmed.

"Are you dying?" but again its wrong, he's not shouting, his voice is so exhausted, so completely fatigued, so choked. He looks down at himself, but he is gripping the bed of the bed, not pointing and waving his arms around like he should be, soaking wet, the water is running down his arms and making pools on the sheets, he can hear the water steadily dripping onto the floor.

So tired, he been fighting to save them for so long he can hardly stand, he can hardly bring his eyes back up to look at Derek, face grey and ashen, so resigned as he's nodding to the saw that has appeared on the bed between them, looking at Stiles to fix it. Stiles barely hears the mumble, he already knows it too well "Not yet". It sounds as if there is no time, no choice, but Stiles knows different, he knows there is time.

"There should always be time!" He pauses, now very aware that he all of the eyes in the class have turned to him as he's heaved himself out of the dream and back with a rather embarrassing announcement into the real world.

"Do you have a point to make?" The teacher levels him with a steady glare, Stiles looks at her confused, who the hell is she? Is this even his class? His eyes rake across the board and he notes her name and the fact that she's a substitute with a sense of relief. His eyes continue to roam over the scratchings on the board. He can feel his brain collecting the information churning it over as something bizarre starts to occur to him.

"He doesn't take time" he begins and then swallows deeply trying to clear the crackle of sleep from his throat. He sits straighter. "He just rushes in and acts on what he finds in front of him. If he'd looked around, paused, waited even just a moment, there's a chance she would have woken up, things would have been fixed, but no he's running in and going crazy and all he thinks is action, she's dead, I must kill myself, what is the guy thinking? Why didn't he just stop for a moment and wait?"

Stiles is on a roll now, he pushes back the chair. "But think about it really, we read this like they are adults, like we expect them to be making sensible decisions, we look at the characters like they are older and wiser than us and so we add a meaning, star-crossed lovers and all that jazz. But it's not that at all, this guy has no role model, his whole family are caught up in some massive war and everyone largely just lets him get on with partying and chasing girls and his father isn't there to teach him anything because he's all up in this war, and the only guy he's got to look up to is actually a pretty big nut job who just gets off on fighting and terrorising. He hasn't got a clue what it is to be an adult, he's just a kid playing in an adults game, and when she gets caught up in it, it's the end of her too, because he's got no one to tell him that he needs to slow down, he needs to stop acting in the moment and wait for a second to see if there is another option. He's got no one to tell him that cutting his arm off is the stupidest idea in the world".

Stiles pauses again, remembering a little too late that nobody cuts their arm off in this story and sits down suddenly. Scott scoots over towards him and Stiles flinches, he hadn't even realised he was here. He's horrified that Scott will put all of that together and realise where his brain just went, he'll figure out that he's just worked out that Derek has no clue what he's doing and then all hell is going to break loose. He'll identify the Alpha weakness and automatically his wolf will seek to exploit it for dominance. There will be a war and more people will get hurt and Scott will gain too much power and become an unstoppable Alpha from hell and….

"Dude, are you wearing your pyjamas?" Scott looks at him in great confusion.

Stiles facepalms in disbelief. Death is a moron.


End file.
